Biopsy results come back. And not in a good way.
My tongue after Dr. Anderson performed the ablation. This was easily the most painful procedure I’d ever been through. Even worse than the biopsy.
Dysplasia, Ablation and other medical terms I wish I’d never had to learn.
A new year rang in a few days after my tongue biopsy. So I resolved, in January of 2020, that my tongue would be fully healed! There wasn't an ounce of my being that believed the biopsy would show anything more than an infection. The results had unfortunately proven otherwise. My oral surgeon, Dr. Mark Anderson, gently confirmed that there were indeed precancerous cells in my tongue called Moderate Dysplasia. I leaned heavily into the “pre” part of “precancerous” and the “moderate” part of the “dysplasia”.
I reminded myself that I’d managed health blips before with excellent results and I would be fine this time too. Besides, I'm the “advocate” not the “patient”. I take care of other people. I’m the strong one. I’d navigated ALS with my mom years before, and took care of her at home until she died. I was only 20 then, still just dreaming about becoming a wife, a homemaker and a mom myself. Now, thanks to Roger and Ryan, I had it all! I had counseled through the crushing feelings of grief after Mom died. Her loss had agitated my spirit for years. That’s why there was absolutely no way I was going to leave the two greatest loves of my life. No way I would leave our son Ryan to manage life without a mommy. He was only 7.
Suffice it to say, when Dr. Anderson recommended an ablation, a procedure that could burn away the unhealthy cells from my tongue, I immediately agreed to it.
“Easily the most painful procedure of my adult life. The ablation felt like having your taste buds burnt off with a Bic lighter. Every treatment after was easier, including surgery.”
Round 2 with the laughing gas. While I knew it would help my physical pain, I was continually petitioning the God of my understanding for His calming comfort and peace.
I didn't think the ablation could hurt worse than the biopsy, but it did. (It was easily the most painful procedure of my adult life. It felt like having your tastebuds burnt off with a Bic lighter.) Initially it seemed as though the ablation had helped. My tongue appeared to be improving just as the Covid pandemic hit in March. -Because of Covid, Dr. Anderson had to close his office for two months. When I finally saw him again in May, my mouth was a mess.
Back again in the exam chair, I reflected upon the first appointment I'd had with him nearly seven-months before. I thought he’d simply prescribe an antibiotic and I’d be on my way. Dr. Anderson’s stature and demeanor matched Roger's then, and that had been an immediate comfort. His eyes had been easy and methodical too. But now I sensed something entirely different. I was right. Before leaving things intensified for me as Dr. Anderson recommended that I make two more appointments. The first one was to see him again a week later. The other was to see an oncologist, immediately.
I held my emotions in just long enough to leave Dr. Anderson’s third story office suite. I took the elevator down to the lobby and practically ran out the front door of the medical building. My pace was even faster as I hustled back to my car and slid into the driver’s seat. I had zero emotional margin left to maintain the scream inflating in my belly. Ironically my license plate reads PRAY BIG - and I did. The ‘big’ part came out like thunder as I tore off the paper mask I’d been required to wear because of Covid. "ONCOLOGIST? THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!!!!!" Did God hear me? Did He actually understand? I was yelling at Him now to make sure. "I AM NOT GETTING CANCER! I am not leaving my son! We are going to fix this!” Then through humble sobs I just broke. “Please heal me Jesus! I believe in your healing power. Please make this go away!"
I should have kept my car’s gearshift in park for a little longer to calm down. But I was only 20-minutes from home and just wanted to get there. About two-miles down the road my head was pounding with a hundred ‘what ifs’. I was cry again. This time, too hard to continue driving safely. I pulled into a storefront lot and shifted the car back into park as I came up with a desperate plan to expedite my healing. I feels ridiculous now, but I decided to call Dr. Anderson's office and finally just ask for the antibiotic I'd been anticipating since my very first appointment with him. Maybe he was being overly cautions by referring me to an oncologist? Or maybe I needed to be more direct about my willingness to try a prescription?
After making my request to the assistant and being placed on a brief hold, she came back on the line and sympathetically whispered, "Dr. Anderson said this is not an antibiotic issue.” My gut felt like it had been punched. And, as if her words hadn't landed hard enough, I finally looked up to see where I was. Through my tears I’d stopped at a Party City store.
Sheesh.